Tides of Torment (Immortal Realms Book 2)
Tides of Torment: Chapter 19

The fire crackled and popped as it died down. Sereia nestled into Travion’s side, allowing one of his arms to drape over her back. She breathed softly, deeply, letting him know she was asleep.

Travion peered down at her, only able to see dark lashes fanning her high cheekbones. He should’ve been sleeping too while they waited. Seas only knew how long they had before the inevitable fight came. Because he was no fool. Travion knew a battle was on the way. But what he wasn’t certain of was if he would survive this one. His jaw clenched as he stared up at the night sky, willing the stars to bring forth the man in question, but they only winked at him. He hoped, with a promise. However, it did nothing to soothe his growing tension.

Travion brushed his lips against the top of Sereia’s head, letting his eyes shut. Perhaps he could sleep for just a—

A high-pitched clicking squeak rolled along the waves, then the distinct sound of spraying water.

Dolphin.

Travion shifted to ease out from under Sereia, but the movement was enough to wake her, and she sprang up, glancing around.

“The dolphins have returned.” Travion pushed himself to his feet, gathering his clothes, and hurriedly dressed. He padded toward the shoreline, and hermit crabs frantically skittered across the smooth sand.

Sereia wasn’t far behind him.

The lead dolphin clicked a greeting to him, slapping his front flipper against the water. Although the dolphin creaked and whistled, images flashed in Travion’s mind. Simple words came together too:

Big light in the sky. A winged hippocampus. Dead man in the water. The one you wanted. Blood.

“What?” Travion snapped, taken by surprise. “What do you mean?” But the creature only revisited the same list of information.

Sereia tugged on his wrist. “Travion, what is it?”

He shook himself out of the dolphin’s mind. “They say there is a dead man on the shore.” Travion shared a look with Sereia, and she sucked in a breath, piecing together what he didn’t say. “Can you take us to him?” he asked the creature, and the dolphin bobbed his head in the water and dove away, only to resurface farther away, waiting.

“What good is he to us dead?” Sereia hissed as she jogged forward.

She was right, but . . . “We don’t know if he is dead. The dolphins can’t reach the shore to inspect.” With a newfound burst of energy, Travion ran down the beach as the dolphin led the way. Nearly a quarter mile down the beach, the dolphin paused, slapping the water with its fins.

Travion halted and scanned the shoreline, but Sereia was already rushing toward a gathering of seaweed. Travion focused on it, relying on the moonlight, and he realized it wasn’t just plant matter but a lifeless body too.

She hauled the body onto the shore, sucking in a breath as she rolled the man over.

Travion crossed the distance and knelt, swearing a blue streak as he recognized the man to be none other than his steward, Taimon.

Red hair, black eyes. Never in a millennia would he have thought they were describing Taimon! His heart raced wildly, and fury rose within him, threatening to consume him. Travion’s hands shook, but he shoved the betrayal away.

Crimson trickled into the water, darkening it. Taimon was wounded—Jonathan had mentioned he’d managed to inflict an injury on the redheaded man.

Travion reached down, his brow furrowing as he pulled at the torn linen shirt. “He did heal himself. Look at these wounds, they’re scarred over.” He rolled the bottom half of the shirt up, exposing Taimon’s fresh scar. “This is where Jonathan said he ran him through, but what is this?” Claw marks raked down his side, exposing muscle and bone. Blood seeped from the wound still and spilled into the water.

He wouldn’t die. Not before Travion had all the answers he needed. Taimon was the perfect unsuspecting piece in this, wasn’t he? While Travion lay in a pool of his blood after being gored by a manticore, Taimon could have swept onto the scene, scarcely noticed, as he was a member of the castle and trusted.

Had been trusted.

“Taimon is behind this?” Sereia whispered, moving her fingers to his throat. “He’s alive, but barely.”

“Taimon must have grabbed the book while I was being pieced back together,” he murmured. “We need to bandage him up as best we can if we have any hopes of saving him.” Although he deserved to rot at the bottom of the sea, they needed whatever knowledge the bastard had.

She twisted her lips as if contemplating whether to drive a blade into Taimon’s heart. “And carry him back?” Disbelief shone within her gaze.

Travion tilted his head back, summoning more patience that he didn’t have. Why couldn’t any of this be straightforward or easy? “No. Even if we could stabilize him, it would take too long to reach the bloody ship.”

Velox surfaced, as if called by Travion’s inner turmoil.

“I swear to the seas and shores you are not worth the trouble.” He stripped his shirt off. “If I didn’t need what’s in your head, I’d finish tearing your innards out myself,” he hissed, roughly slipping the shirt beneath his steward’s body and knotting it so it staunched the flow of blood and kept his innards in place.

“As would I,” Sereia agreed.

“Velox, call one of your pod members,” Travion said over his shoulder. “Help me carry him into the water,” he said to Sereia. “We’ll save time and possibly his life if we take to the water.”

“Not that he deserves it,” she muttered.

“No, but we deserve answers,” Travion said as he slid an arm beneath Taimon’s upper half and Sereia took care of his lower body. Together, they carried him into the water, keeping Taimon afloat until the hippocampus arrived.

Velox steadied as Taimon was lifted onto his back. He slid forward, slumping against the creature’s neck, and Travion climbed behind the limp body. Live, you wretched bastard. So that I can kill you myself.

Sereia mounted the other hippocampus, a smaller one with yellow patches around its muzzle, melding in with the green of its jowls.

From down the beach, Finn, Yon, and Adrik appeared, finally catching up. Sereia waved an arm to capture their attention, and the three quickly ran to join them. Several more members of Velox’s pod popped their heads above water.

“Hurry, there’s no time to explain, get onto a hippocampus. We have to get back to the ship.”

Looking somewhat stunned, the three waded into the water and claimed a willing steed.

In this state or any other, it was difficult for Travion to picture his steward as a villain, especially one who had a hand in his near death. Taimon was reserved, efficient, and dutiful. But how well did Travion know him? How much time and effort had Travion spent learning about him?

Taimon’s pallor had grown gray, and Travion worried they were too late.

“His pulse is barely fluttering,” Travion muttered as his fingers pressed against the man’s throat.

“How unfortunate.” Sereia sighed as she twined her fingers around the webbing of her mount’s mane. “We’d better ride fast, then.”

With a whistle, the hippocampi set off, their fins easily dashing through the water, far faster than Travion or Sereia would have been walking on land.

By the time they reached where Speedwell was docked, Taimon’s lips were losing their pinkness. Little by little, the life was leeching out of him, and had they carried him, Travion had no doubt he would have died.

Travion slid from Velox and carefully drew Taimon down. Then Sereia was by his side, helping to bring him to shore, where they laid him down. “Go get Lefyr. He’s nearly dead!”

Sereia darted away, running up the beach and disappearing from sight.

Finn came to stand over Travion, staring down at the unconscious man on the beach, shock registering on his face.

Taimon’s chest barely moved and as Travion checked his pulse again. A faint thrum beat against his fingers.

Lefyr raced down the beach with Sereia leading the way. She sucked in a breath but didn’t say a word as Lefyr knelt down beside Taimon and placed a hand against his chest. The soft beating of magic filled the air as the gash running across the half-fae’s torso healed, and he sucked in a sputtering breath.

“He’s stable for now. Enough so we can move him inside Speedwell. I’ll do more there.” Lefyr looked up at Travion, and a question burned brightly in his gaze, but one he never asked.

There really was no other option, he supposed. Or one that wasn’t rash. Taimon had to be brought to the Speedwell because, once fully healed, he’d be secured in the brig as a prisoner. Travion wasn’t about to chance him escaping.

“Let’s carry the bastard to the ship then, because I want answers.” He slid an arm beneath Taimon’s upper half, and Lefyr tended to the lower portion as they lifted him up. Lefyr matched Travion’s stride, and they carried him onto the dock. Finn followed behind, and his expression was now one of absolute fury. Oh, he’d have to get in line, because there was no doubt Sereia would leap at the chance to do Taimon in first.

“So, do you all know this man?” Lefyr asked. “He seems to pull quite the reaction from all of you.”

Before Travion could open his mouth, Finn reached forward, plucked the limp body from his arms, and brought him onto the ship, silencing the healer. Taimon looked like no more than a doll in his guard’s hold.

Travion clenched his jaw as he stared Lefyr down. “You need to wake him, now. Heal him enough so he can talk.”

Lefyr’s dark brow furrowed in question. “But you didn’t answer—”

Travion lifted a brow. He longed to snap at him, to shake him by the shoulders because he had no idea what this male had done. This wasn’t the time to question him, and the fae must have seen that written across the tight lines of his face because he stepped back and averted his gaze.

“And he doesn’t have to,” Sereia said, stepping onto the plank and crossing it. “When Taimon wakes, I want my face to be the first thing that two-faced bastard sees.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and every muscle of her body tensed, clearly bent on revenge.

Lefyr swallowed roughly but continued, “It is best that he rest—”

“I don’t remember asking what is best for him. I ordered you to heal him, and I suggest you do it now,” Travion growled as he walked closer to Lefyr.

Lefyr closed his eyes, nodding, but the words he spoke weren’t the ones Travion wanted to hear. “I understand, but what you must understand is this: I don’t have an endless supply of energy, and I’ve pushed myself to my limits this entire time. That male needs to rest so I can be most useful to you and him.”

“By the sea!” Fury rose within Travion, not for the first time, and lightning crackled in the distance. Thunder boomed loudly, rumbling through the town.

Sereia reached out, placing her hand on his back. “Trask,” she murmured, pulling him from his well of anger.

His shoulders dropped down a fraction, and he sighed. “Very well, we have no choice. Bring him below.”

Finn disappeared from the deck. He wanted his pound of flesh too, but he also wanted Taimon to pay for the crimes against Midniva, Andhera, and Lucem. For the innocents who were slain and those who suffered because of the consequences of Taimon’s vile actions. That meant keeping him alive for the time being, as much as he was loath to admit it.

Seahawks circled above, crying in dismay over the loss of a potential meal. Travion crossed the deck and descended the stairs leading toward the captain’s quarters. He could hear Sereia speaking but couldn’t make out words until he was at the door.

“If we weren’t certain about Lefyr knowing before, I think we can safely say now that he knows who Travion is,” Sereia hissed.

“It wouldn’t surprise me. I’ve seen the way he looks at him,” Finn said.

A pause. Then, “Maybe he doesn’t need his eyes.”

Finn’s sigh turned into a groan. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or not. You cannot just go around plucking eyes out, Captain.”

Travion swallowed down a laugh as it bubbled up his throat. He knew for a fact that the lovely Sereia wasn’t jesting, and that she wouldn’t hesitate to exact her revenge on Taimon for all that he’d done. He’d seen the rage—the hurt—burning in her eyes when she’d first seen his scars.

He slid the door open, and Sereia turned to face him, but his eyes focused on Finn, who looked exasperated. “My dear, loyal Finn Kyros. I promise you that Sereia isn’t jesting. Did you know she insulted Draven’s wife at the ball? Called her . . . what was it, a childish brat or harlot?” He turned his head to face Sereia, who pressed her lips together and jutted her chin out.

“It was both, actually. And it was a grave misunderstanding. She’s a lovely lady,” Sereia mumbled, swiping a strand of hair out of her face.

Finn’s mouth parted in horror, his brows knitting together as he looked between the two. “And His Grace didn’t . . .”

“It turns out, he can be reasonable,” Sereia muttered.

Travion lowered into a chair next to the table where his steward lay. A gray wool blanket covered Taimon’s body, and his sopping-wet clothes were piled in a heap beside the door. The bastard didn’t deserve to lie in his bed. Whatever discomfort he suffered was well deserved. His head lolled to the side, mouth slack, but at least his color was returning to its typical creamy shade. Soon they’d have answers. Soon.

Travion grinned, chuckling. “Oh, I’m sure he was tempted to retaliate,” he finally said. But Sereia was his lover, however temporary or infrequent their interactions may be. She was his, and he was hers.

She blew out a breath and leaned forward, poised for an argument, but as she shifted, her eyes squinted and focused on Taimon. “Get Lefyr. He’s struggling to breathe.”

Finn jumped to his feet and raced out of the quarters before Travion even had the chance to reiterate.

Taimon’s chest rose and fell, reminding Travion of a fish gasping for breath on the shore. “He was just fine!” he ground out, but of course this half-wit would try to die before he could face judgment.

“And now he’s not.” Sereia curled her fingers into her palms as she glared down at the half-fae.

A moment later, Lefyr rushed into the quarters, looking windblown. His white linen shirt hung open at the top, and his silken black hair was in disarray. “Listen, I have to get something out of the way before I continue . . .”

Travion clenched his teeth, seething as the healer took his time. “Do not take this moment to—”

Lefyr dipped his head again, then words poured from his mouth so quickly, Travion almost didn’t process them. “Apologies, Your Grace, but I know that you’re King Travion.” Then he darted toward the table, his fingers tugging down the woolen blanket covering Taimon.

“Told you,” Sereia and Finn said to each other at the same time.

“I’ve known since I sat next to you at the tavern. While we’ve never been introduced, nor have we mingled, I’ve seen you plenty of times, and I’d be a poor excuse for a Midnivian if I didn’t know my king’s face,” Lefyr supplied, working his fingers down Taimon’s torso. A soft, lapping glow crawled along his skin, reminding Travion of a cuttlefish’s oscillating fins, then the light disappeared.

Taimon sucked in a breath and sat upright, his eyes wild and feverish. Whatever Lefyr meant to say next was forgotten, because Taimon’s eyes locked with Travion’s and he bolted from the table. Any doubts Travion may have had about Taimon’s guilt disappeared.

Finn darted for the door, blocking it with his body, and Sereia reached for a sword. But Travion rushed for his steward, grabbing him by the neck and forcing him back onto the table. Taimon’s nails scraped down his forearm, stinging and bloodying him, but for all the rage that threatened to scald him from the inside, he didn’t care.

“I suggest you sit your scrawny self back down, Taimon. You’re in quite the predicament.” He spoke through gritted teeth and loosened his grip as the male settled.

Sereia rounded the table, blade at the ready. “I will drive this through you and let him heal you only to do it again, understand?” She swung the tip toward Lefyr, then back at Taimon.

Taimon bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, and it trickled down his chin. Every inch of the male was tense as his mouth opened and he looked as though he would vomit. But his stomach didn’t lurch. Was he trying to speak?

“Are you spelled against speaking about the book?” Travion drawled, dragging his gaze from the table to his steward’s eyes. Taimon nodded but didn’t utter a word. By the sea, of course he was spelled! “If you refuse to speak, you know what will happen, Taimon. You’ve been in my service for over twenty years, and you know I will cut it out of you if I must.”

Taimon’s bottom lip quivered, but he said nothing.

“There is a way around the spell. You could avoid suffering at this moment if you comply. Do you agree to try?” It took everything within Travion to offer fairness to a male who deserved to burn to ash, to die alone on the shore of a foreign country.

His steward’s ebony eyes slid toward him with such contempt that Travion had a difficult time seeing the frazzled male that sat in on his council meetings and had helped him when Travion needed it most.

“I refuse,” Taimon croaked. Contrary to his earlier attempt at speaking about the spell, the steward wouldn’t comply, not even to save himself.

“Very well.” Travion glanced at Sereia, and she nodded. “Lefyr, if you don’t have the stomach for this, leave now.” Fury ebbed from him, and in its wake, calmness reigned. An eerie stillness, like the sea before a storm.

With a careful grace, Travion crossed the room and gathered a spare belt. Taimon flinched but didn’t move, not until Travion returned to the table and grabbed his arms. He pulled back, whimpering, but relented as Finn took a step closer.

“Last warning for you, Lefyr, and also for you, Taimon.” When neither budged, he coiled the leather belt around Taimon’s wrists, and Sereia bound his ankles together with rope. “Finn, hang him from the beam.” Travion rolled the sleeves of his shirt to his biceps, watching as his guard hoisted the smaller male up so his wrists held his weight, then yanking his arms up in a painful stretch. “How could I forget?” He turned his back to his steward and walked to a shelf where a blue embroidered handkerchief sat. Travion swiped it and returned to stand before the male, who swung like a pendulum. “To silence your cries and to keep you from biting your tongue off.”

“Is he going to . . .” Lefyr stammered.

“I think you should leave, Lefyr,” Sereia bit out. “And you’ll be called in when you’re needed.”

Lefyr scrambled for the cabin door and hurriedly exited, slamming the door shut as he left.

“We’ll only call for him when it’s completely necessary,” Travion offered to Taimon as he circled him. He lifted the blade in his hand and let the tip bite into the flesh on Taimon’s shoulder. A muffled cry escaped his steward as blood trickled down his back.

He’d see how long Taimon would hold out.

When his steward’s back was reduced to ribbons, and his head hung limply to the side, Finn left to collect Lefyr.

But when they returned, Travion lifted a hand. “Don’t fully heal him. I want him to endure this pain, but I need him conscious enough to speak.

Lefyr’s pale face appeared quite green around the gills. “As you wish,” he murmured, lifting his hands to place around the male’s hips.

As Taimon roused, Travion yanked the cloth from his mouth. “Are you ready to talk now?” Sereia came to stand beside him. He hadn’t so much as glanced at her during the torture, and part of him was afraid to. What did she see in him then? Did she see he was no better than his father? That Ludari’s vile nature ran through his veins too?

Taimon shook violently, no doubt from the pain radiating through his body. “Th-they left me. They took the book. I did everything th-they asked me to.” His body convulsed, and then he spewed bile. It splattered on the floor, mingling with his blood.

“Who are they, Taimon?” Travion bit out, but there was no answer. He reached out and grabbed the male’s chin, forcing him to look him in the eye. “Why? Why do this to me? After everything?”

Taimon spat in his face. “Because you and your brothers are all the same, and in the end, you’ll get what is coming to y—”

Sereia’s fist connected with his jaw, and for the second time, Taimon’s head lolled to the side. “Speak to him that way again, and I will gut you like the worthless rat you are,” she spat. Her eyes were blazing with fury—not fear or hatred toward Travion, but anger directed toward his steward and his involvement in everything. The book, his near death . . .

Travion ran a hand down his face, scrunching his nose as he realized blood caked his fingers. “Oh, he will die, just not now.” He motioned for Finn to pull him down from the beam. “Throw him in the brig, and Lefyr, stand by in case he decides to fail on us again.”

Because if he did, Lefyr would bring him back, again and again. Until Travion could put him on trial in Midniva.

Sereia crossed the room, closing the door. Then she halted, squinting at the pile of discarded clothes. She knelt down, rummaging through them until she pulled out a wet, crumpled piece of paper.

Even from where Travion stood, from the color of the paper, the length, he knew what it was. A piece of The Creaturae.

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